


reinforcements

by youcouldmakealife



Series: it's a setup [18]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26144971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “What?” Willy says. “Scratch doesn’t hate you.”“Uh huh,” Joey says. “He’s lovingly avoiding me.”“Exactly,” Willy says brightly. “You’re getting it.”
Relationships: OMC/OMC
Series: it's a setup [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669567
Comments: 87
Kudos: 314





	reinforcements

Everything sucks.

Everything sucks more when Scratch loses his shit on the ice with three games to go in the season, looks like he’s bottled up everything that’s bothering him and used to to make poor unsuspecting Oilers suffer. Like — they’ve suffered enough, haven’t they? Being the Oilers? It isn’t nice to try to murder them on top of everything.

It starts in the first, when Scratch absolutely annihilates someone at center, which isn’t like him. Well, it’s not _not_ like him, he always throws his weight around, that’s a big part of what you’re paid to do on a checking line, but he’s usually pretty good about picking his spots, keeping stuff close to the boards. He gets a five minute major, and thankfully they manage to ride it out, but Joey’s wrung out by the end of it, got double-shifted at the start, and was put on to finish it.

Scratch gives him an apology elbow on the bench, and Joey tiredly elbows him back, though he’s less forgiving when Scratch lands in the box again in the third, this time for a careless stick, double-minor because the guy’s bleeding, and Joey’s jumping over the bench to kill his penalty all over again. They win it, but it was tight, definitely tighter than it had any right to be, and Joey feels a little like he got bag-skated after, since a few other guys took penalties as well — nothing egregious, unlike Scratch — and he feels like he was out on the PK half the damn game.

“It was a good game, boys,” Coach says. “Couple of notes. Starting with you, Little Nicky. Watch the line. You want to ride it, fine, but you start pulling that shit in the postseason I’ll yank you from the roster faster than the refs will yank you from the game.”

“Yeah,” Scratch mumbles, head ducked, hiding behind his sweaty hair. “Sorry.”

Everyone kind of keeps their distance from Scratch as they’re getting dressed, like he’ll explode on them, and maybe Joey should follow their lead, especially since Scratch has pretty explicitly told Joey he doesn’t want to talk to him, but he looks so woebegone Joey can’t be mad at him, so tired that it sort of makes Joey ache, and he hates this, he hates all of it. He can’t not check on him, even if Scratch doesn’t want him to.

“Are you okay?” Joey asks.

“M’fine,” Scratch says.

“Are you sure?” Joey asks. “Because—”

“Joey,” Scratch says, sharp enough to make Joey back off.

“Sorry,” Joey says. “If you need to talk or something — I’ve got you, you know?”

“Yeah,” Scratch says. “I know.”

“Okay,” Joey says.

Scratch hasn’t moved when Joey hits the showers, still in most of his gear, but with a bonus damp Willy at his stall. Joey doesn’t think Willy’s doing a supportive ‘here for you’ thing, judging by the way Willy looks intense and faintly furious — he’s in Playoff Willy mode early, Joey guesses — and Joey fights the urge to go over and rescue Scratch from what’s probably an absolutely withering lecture, but he knows Scratch wouldn’t want him to, knows it’d probably just make everything worse, make Scratch’s already shitty day shittier, so he keeps walking, gets to his car and drives home alone. Again.

Their last two games are on the road, which bites — it’s always a letdown when you do your final home game of the season, get that awesome ovation from the fans, and then just go right on playing. But at least it’s obviously not the last of the Scouts Kansas City is going to be seeing. Scratch is in the press box for the first one, sitting out a one game suspension, but thankfully back to normal hockey when he does return, that big physical punishing style, but legal about it.

They drop both games — the first one’s not their fault, they’re playing a desperate team all of a point out of contention, so the amount of passion on either side is drastically different, and they _still_ only lose by one goal. The other’s a bad night all around, nothing seeming to click, Trigger looking deeply uncomfortable out there until he gets a mercy hook. He hopes Scratch isn’t too in his head to check in on him after, because he probably needs it, and Scratch is the only guy who can do it without Trigger biting his head off.

Scratch is sitting with Trigger on the plane on the late flight home, body angled in like he’s forming a human shield between Trigger and any looks that last a second too long, might set him off. It probably shouldn’t work, since Trigger’s a giant, but he’s a giant with slumped posture right now.

“Chin up, Big Man,” Joey says after a moment of indecision, and he just gets a shrug from Trigger, but he gets the closest thing to a smile from Scratch he’s gotten in — he doesn’t even know how long. It’s pathetic how much it gets to him, leaves him hopeful and happy and also like — the exact opposite, because since when is Scratch smiling at him going to be something so rare that it stops him in his tracks. Like, literally.

“Move it, Money,” Shithead says, elbowing him in the back.

“Yeah,” Joey says, rubbing his back as he goes. Shithead did not pull that elbow. You’d think you’d be nicer to your teammates than your opponents, but, well — it’s Shithead, what does Joey expect?

Joey’s got his iPad out and his headphones in when Willy sits down heavily beside him, looking like they just lost the damn Cup instead of an absolutely meaningless game. 

“We’re not going to win every series in a sweep, you know,” Joey says. “That has literally never happened in NHL history.”

“Not true,” Willy says.

“You better not be about to give me a stat from like seventy years ago when there were only six teams,” Joey says.

“It wasn’t seventy years ago,” Willy says.

“Was it less than fifty?” Joey asks.

Willy’s posture says ‘no, no it wasn’t’. 

“Okay, no one’s ever had a 16-0 record then,” Joey says. “We’re going to lose games, Willy.”

“I don’t like your attitude,” Willy says, chin up, all stubborn. Playoff Willy’s the worst Willy. 

“I don’t like your face,” Joey says.

“I sat with you because you’re _quiet_ ,” Willy says.

“No I’m not,” Joey says.

“On planes?” Willy says. “You chill and watch shit and keep to yourself.”

Well, that’s true, Joey guesses. “Well maybe I don’t want to chill,” he says, even though honestly, he does. “Maybe you’re like the first person I talked to all day.” 

Also untrue — he had a good chat about equipment with Ron and his mom called that afternoon, but like —

“Oh buddy,” Willy says.

“I don’t get why he still isn’t talking to me,” Joey mumbles.

“He’s working through some stuff,” Willy says. “You just have to be patient.”

He, like Trigger, sounds like a man who knows what that stuff is. And he, unlike Trigger, isn’t the kind of man who’d bury a body if Scratch asked politely.

“Can you tell me what stuff?” Joey asks. “Because if I know what stuff maybe I can—”

“You know it’s gotta be him that tells you,” Willy says with disapproval.

Joey blows out a breath.

“He’s working on it,” Willy says. “Okay?”

“He needs to work on it faster,” Joey mumbles. 

“I completely agree,” Willy mutters back. “Playoffs.”

“Playoffs,” Joey sighs.

“Don’t say that word in that tone of voice,” Willy snaps. 

“Sorry, Playoff Mode Willy,” Joey says, and decides it is, in fact, in his best interest to stick his headphones in and chill before Willy has a playoff meltdown.

*

Some of the guys are acting weird going into the playoffs. Not like, playoff mode weird either, which is usually a mix of high-strung anxiety and slightly incredulous cheerfulness, which sometimes leads to some big attitude clashes at the beginning. The high-strung anxiety and cheerfulness are definitely there — Joey keeps bouncing from ‘I’m going to be sick’ to ‘I think I’m going to fucking kiss Stanley this year’ at a worrisome rate — but a select group of people is being different weird. Willy keeps sidling up to him and asking him stuff about Scratch, like he’s trying to rub in that Scratch isn’t talking to him, and Trigger keeps giving Joey murder eyes Joey hasn’t done anything to deserve, and it’s a whole bunch of stress on top of the playoff stress Joey already has, plus bonus confusion.

But on the bright side, the hockey is beautiful. They leave Kansas City with a 2-0 series lead, return home at 3-1, and the only reason the North Stars avoided a sweep is because they scored the game winner on an absolutely garbage call that Coach is still muttering about when they’re walking into practice two days later. Joey checked the replies of the Scouts’ tweet about that goal just for fun — he thinks he saw about six people multi-tasking typing and having a coronary event at the same time. He loves their fans. Not so much the refs.

The chance to clinch it in front of their fans has everyone pretty upbeat, and Joey’s no exception, though his mood does sour a bit as Willy just keeps saying shit about Scratch to him while Scratch does his ‘studiously avoid Joey’ thing, the combo making Joey’s stomach turn a bit. He backs off during practice itself, mostly because he’s scarily intent, like it’s a game instead of a loose scrimmage to keep their legs moving but not wear anyone out, but when Joey’s heading out Willy’s tagging along with him, ‘Scratch Scratch Scratch’ in Joey’s ear again.

“Okay,” Joey says, stopping up and nearly causing a collision, because they picked up a Trigger somewhere along the way. “What is it with your ‘rubbing Joey’s face in the fact Scratch hates him for some reason’ thing lately?”

“What?” Willy says. “Scratch doesn’t hate you.”

“Uh huh,” Joey says. “He’s lovingly avoiding me.”

“Exactly,” Willy says brightly. “You’re getting it.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” Joey asks.

“I thought he was getting it,” Willy says to Trigger, who grunts. “Okay, fine, you’re not getting it.”

“Getting — whatever weirdly mean thing you’re doing right now?” Joey asks.

“How are you this —” Willy says.

“Willy—” Trigger says, then, in a slightly murderous tone of voice, “Don’t.”

“I give up!” Willy yells, which Joey doesn’t think is following the murderous suggestion, though he can’t be sure.

“Um,” Joey says. “Are you — are you having a playoff meltdown? Do I need to get—”

“I am going to _kill_ you, Joseph Munroe,” Willy says. 

“I don’t think that’ll help us in the playoffs?” Joey asks. 

“I cannot do this anymore,” Willy says. “We have tried subtle. We have tried obvious. We have tried a fucking clue bat. I genuinely am at my wit’s end. We have _playoffs_ , Money. _Playoffs_. I want the Stanley Cup! I do not have the time or energy to be dealing with this shit anymore.”

“Me too?” Joey says. “Wait, what is this? Is this an intervention?”

What is this even an intervention _for_? 

“Yes,” Willy says. “This is an intervention.”

“If I hear you telling Money I have to tell him that I heard you telling Money,” Trigger says as loudly as he does cryptically, then flees faster than a man his size should possibly be able to.

“What the fuck?” Joey asks.

“Don’t get distracted by Trigger being Trigger,” Willy says. “Just look me in the eyes.”

Joey looks him in the eyes. They’re beautiful eyes. Stupid Willy.

“You need to know that I’m saying what I’m about to say with love and affection,” Willy says.

Joey takes the chance to brace himself.

“You are the dumbest motherfucker in the entire world,” Willy says.

“How is there love and affection in that statement?” Joey asks. “Where the hell is the love and affection?”

“The love and affection are the feelings I have for you, my good friend Money,” Willy says. “Who is the dumbest motherfucker in the entire world.”

“I continue to hear zero love and affection,” Joey says.

“Buddy,” Willy says. “If you haven’t picked up on how Scratch feels about you by now I don’t know what to say that can change that except literally telling you that Scratch is in love with you.”

“Wait, what?” Joey asks.

“Scratch is in love with you,” Willy says, very slowly, like he thinks Joey’s — well, the dumbest motherfucker in the world. Except he isn’t, because the dumbest motherfucker in the world is obviously _Willy_.

“Scratch is straight,” Joey tells him.

“Money!” Willy says. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

“Is this about Owen?” Joey asks. “Because I know Owen thought—”

The noise Willy makes is somewhere between a growl and a scream, and Joey recoils from it.

“Money,” Willy says, sounding like he’s saying it between gritted teeth. “Nick is in love with you. It’s obvious from fucking _space_ that he’s in love with you. You know how obvious it is? _Trigger_ knows he’s in love with you, and Trigger doesn’t even understand human emotions.”

“Don’t be mean to Trigger,” Joey says, because he knows Scratch would want Joey to defend him.

“I’m not!” Willy says. “Trigger literally said it the other day when Shithead was on that rant about his ex! Verbatim! ‘I don’t understand human emotions’!”

“I mean, does Shithead really count as a human, though?” Joey says. “I’d really describe him more as—”

“Joey!” Willy says. “Stop deflecting or distracting or whatever you’re doing right now and _listen_ to me.”

“I’m not deflecting,” Joey says. “I’m ignoring the completely ridiculous thing you keep telling me because it’s _completely ridiculous_.”

“Why is it ridiculous,” Willy says.

“For one, Scratch is straight,” Joey says.

“Okay, say he isn’t,” Willy says.

“Except he is,” Joey says.

“Hypothetically if he wasn’t!” Willy says. “Work with me here.”

“Scratch has literally only dated women,” Joey says. “So yeah, he’s straight.”

“You haven’t dated a single guy for as long as I’ve known you, but I’m still _pretty_ sure you’re gay,” Willy says.

“Different thing,” Joey says. “Because Scratch isn’t gay.”

“Okay, say he’s bi, or pan, or straight with a giant Joey Munroe exception, whatever,” Willy says.

“Except he isn’t,” Joey insists.

“Has Scratch literally ever said ‘Money, I’m one-hundred percent exclusively attracted to women’ to you?” Willy asks.

“No, because he doesn’t have to,” Joey says. “He’s not like you level straight, but he’s—”

“What’s ‘me’ level straight?” Willy interrupts.

“Uh,” Joey says. “The straightest straight to ever straight?”

“Money,” Willy says. “Have I ever said that?”

“No, but like, it’s obvious,” Joey says.

“So you just assumed I was straight without any evidence,” Willy says.

“Uh,” Joey says. “Are you — are you not?”

Willy gives him a look, and Joey thinks it’s supposed to be an answer but —

Joey’s very confused thought process is interrupted by a hand landing on his shoulder, so hard it’s almost more of a blow than a shoulder slap and Joey can’t even appreciate that Scratch is willingly touching him for once, because _ow_. Willy jumps, having also been shoulder mauled.

“Hey guys,” Scratch says. Joey thinks he’s trying to sound casual, but he’s mostly landing on super fucking pissed, and Joey frantically goes through the conversation to figure out what he might have overheard. “What’s up?”

“Just having a chat with my boy Money,” Willy says. 

“You wanna — stop doing that?” Scratch says. “Right this second? Before I sic Trigger on you?”

Willy sighs. “I genuinely hate both of you,” he says, shrugging Scratch’s hand off his shoulder. “Fine. Work it out yourselves.”

He stomps off dramatically. 

“What,” Joey says.

“What were you talking about?” Scratch asks. “With Willy. What were you talking about with Willy.”

“I think Willy just came out to me?” Joey says. “I mean — shit!”

Not that Scratch would judge, but it’s obviously not Joey’s thing to tell. If he was even reading it right, because he feels Willy was being intentionally cryptic just to confuse Joey. Hell, the whole conversation seemed like an elaborate way to just continually confuse Joey. Was that a prank? Is he being hazed? He’s been with this team way too long to be hazed.

Scratch sags a little. “Okay, okay cool.”

“Wait, did you already know Willy wasn’t straight?” Joey asks.

“Uh,” Scratch says. “I mean no, but it doesn’t really surprise me if he isn’t?”

“He pulls in like every city!” Joey says.

“Which just means he likes women,” Scratch says. 

“Okay, but,” Joey says. “He exclusively pulls women.”

“That you know of,” Scratch says. “And does you never pulling guys make you not gay, or—”

“You guys have to stop using examples that involve me being undateable as hell, it’s hurtful,” Joey says.

“You’re not undateable at all,” Scratch says. “Joey, come on, you’re—”

“Yeah yeah, totally dateable, guys are lined up down the block,” Joey says.

“Well maybe if you’d actually—” Scratch starts.

“No, I don’t like — I don’t want this to be Willy 2.0,” Joey says. 

“What was Willy 1.0?” Scratch asks.

“Just saying shit that was fucking ridiculous and hilarious, so whatever,” Joey says.

“Right,” Scratch says. “Okay. That’s — thanks, Joey.”

“You’re…welcome?” Joey says.

“Glad you find it so funny,” Scratch says. 

“Um,” Joey says as Scratch stomps away. His stomping is less dramatic than Willy’s but also like — pissed. Really fucking pissed. Even more pissed than the shoulder slap had been.

 _please tell me why Scratch is mad at me_ Joey texts Trigger, then adds another desperate _please_ because he is not above begging at this point.

 _im gunna murder u_ Trigger texts back, which is unsettling even before it’s followed up by _in the most painful way I can think of_.

Joey’s still caught up in horrifyingly vivid speculation of what the most painful way Trigger can think of is — though he suspects he can’t even begin to imagine what Trigger is capable of thinking up — when he gets another text, this one from Willy.

_You are the dumbest motherfucker in the entire world. Probably in the universe._

Joey’s curious if he was lurking in a corner listening, or if he just guessed it’d be a good time to say it. Which it might be, because Joey’s starting to feel like the dumbest motherfucker in the entire world.

He just doesn’t know why.


End file.
